


Chasing Midnight

by koriente



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Torture, Religion, Self-Harm, Serial Killers, Suicidal Thoughts, i dont know what else to put in this ??, ill add more tagswhen i see more stuff that needs to be added in, just be careful when reading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8123512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koriente/pseuds/koriente
Summary: Pretty girls are meant for diamond rings and silk dresses not blood stained hands and the smell of decay.





	1. Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> be careful bc i dont really shy away from gore js

He who built you a castle and gave you a sapphire jeweled crown. 

He who freed you from the torture life threw your way.

It was him, always going to be about _him_.

Yet, now red coasted you from wrist to finger tips. It dug itself under your long nails and stayed there until your scrubbed your hands raw of filth. The manor you shared with him was no longer a castle but your prison and his laboratory. No matter how many times you vigorously scratched the floor with the harsh side of the sponge, it was never enough to rinse away the deeds. You were an accomplice; his partner in crime. His kind smile hid his sinister intentions quite well. Now you were meant to be forever in his debt, giving away your life to help him dispose of limbs and bones until his passing. The guilt and shame could only be pushed aside as you woke up every morning and realized reality was cruel and not for you. Still, you just couldn't help but feel grateful for pulling you out of your past situation.

So when your nose crinkled and your hand reached up to cover it, you still pressed on to the back room in the basement. Large bags littered the room and waited to be burned in the furnace and you could only hope none of them were leaking. The same sick feeling filled your stomach, your throat itching you release your stomachs content as you walked closer to one.

Sick, sick, sick. 

The stomach acid boiled and bubbled with disgust, but you covered your face with a freshly washed sleeve, inhaled the floral scent, and held your breath. You reached down to grab onto a bag, dragging it across the floor before you struggled to pick it up. That was the last straw for your stomach. It wasn't warm, but cold and the contents in it seemed to be discomposing real well. How long this one had been in here was unknown, but how it felt pushed your breakfast up and out of your mouth. Kneeling down on the floor, you gagged out as much as possible and sat there for a few seconds, maybe even minutes. It was difficult to tell time when your head swirled with thoughts of _who_ was in that bag and _why_ they ended up in it. Were they a mother? Maybe a son? Did they have a job and did they come home just in time for dinner? Every bag had a story. Every bag had a name, but he would never let them keep it after the heart stopped. Thus, none of them were labeled and were nothing but chunks of flesh and bone.

You gave lifting the bag another try by hugging it and hoisting it up into your arms. It felt like it was sloshing around in your hands, the cold exterior piercing through your skin and stunning your joints for a few seconds. The nameless victim was pushed into the furnace and enveloped in flames. The plastic broke and retracted into itself to reveal a decaying face. The eyes were what always seemed to haunt you the most...

This one had none. You couldn't cherish the color of them even if they did though. They were dark, empty sockets that could not convey any expression as the mouth too seemed to have been rotten to the bone. The cheeks were sunken in and patches of hair were missing from the scalp. You'll never know if they were forcefully ripped out or if decomposition played a part in it. The smell of burning flesh brought back the tickling sensation so to avoid another vomit mishap, you covered your nostrils with your sleeve once more and resumed work. The mess would have to be cleaned up later as you didn't want him to know your stomach hadn't built up a tolerance just yet. It was, sadly, getting there though.

"Have you finished yet, my dear?" His eerie voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you mustered up a gentle smile and called back to report your progress. You weren't going to get through with everything today, obviously. Burning corpses does not happen within three seconds like he must think. He should know this, though, as he had been the one to teach you what your job around his manor would be. He grabbed your arm and held you right in front of the furnace so you, too, could watch the joy of flames licking at dead skin and maggots. That night you held your head over the toilet as the memory was burned into your head. Sometimes the girl would pop up in your dreams where her skin would peel apart to reveal the bugs eating at her meat. Her jaw would move, but no sound would come out as you had never heard her speak before in your life. A cold sweat would coat your forehead as you shot up in a seated position and reflected on her.

_Who was she?_

Not knowing was the toughest part of it all. You did not know her, and she did not know you. Though, you were the one to get rid of her remains and erase the last trace of her existence from this world. Who was truly the one who murdered her in the end? Even though the light in her eyes dissipated and your breathing ceased, she still _existed_. You could run the pads of your fingers against her hardening skin and feel her existence. Even though the soul that belonged to her had left her being, she was still physically _there_. You were the one who got rid of her as a whole. While everyone else was just a pile of meat for you to take care of, she had sunk into your mind and lurked in the dark corners of your brain. When you zoned out in front of your desk at two in the morning, you swear you can feel her behind you. Her cold, restless eyes just burning into your back with sorrow. Phantom fingers danced across your face and, in an inaudible whisper, she asked you the same question.

_"Who are you?"_

_"Who am I?"_ You'd answer back, _"Well, who are you?"_

_"I am no one, but someone at the same time. I am me. I am the ghost who follows you. I am the entity that chases your nightmares. I am no one, but someone at the same time. Who are you?_ _"_

_"I am the last person who held you. I am the person who destroyed you. I am someone, but deserve to be no one just as you are. I'm sorry."  
_


	2. Holy

  _"Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?"_

Father Julien spoke with a booming voice that resonated throughout the church. Families who had come dressed up in their Sunday service outfits read along with their worn out bibles. Occasionally, when he would stop, the church would be filled with a collaboration of voices mumbling _'Amen'_. In the very back of God's Kingdom, you sat with your head bowed and hands clasped together in prayer. The way he spoke of angels left a bitter taste on your tongue that would not disappear no matter how many times you swallowed.

In the library down the street, old books occupied the back shelves where dust collected. The words on the pages had taught you Angels were hideous creatures who only brought death and sorrow. While you were aware of the sickening truth, everyone around you remained ignorant. They pictured breathtaking humanoid figures with wings and enchanting voices that sung for God Almighty as they danced around him in Heaven. They would have porcelain skin, golden tresses, and supple pink cheeks. White wings would wrap around you in protection, but what was the price of it all when they snatched your soul away? Even with all this information you still found yourself planted in this same spot every Sunday morning as the Father chanted, _"G_ _od will free you of sin! You are his children! His beautiful masterpieces! Repent, repent, repent! For he is your only key to salvation! Hallelujah! Praise be with thee!"_

Hallelujah, indeed!

The feeling of squishy flesh and wet meat just didn't do it for you! Collecting skinned body tissue off the floor and throwing it in a rusty bucket had not been your childhood dream. No, you wanted to be a doctor or perhaps a teacher. A child's ambitions were nothing but thin glass that could be shattered between your thumb and index finger. If this man could come into a room full of faithful people and tell you a strange being could save you, then why couldn't you escape that hellish manor? Why didn't Mother Mary take you by the hand and lead you on a path of righteousness? If you asked Father, he would tell you that God isn't in charge of our world anymore after Eve took the apple. In the same sentence you would be told the Lord worked miracles and to always keep your faith in Him. You were not even sure if you believed in his existence or not to be quite honest. You'd scream into your pillow frequently about what a cruel man he was to stick you into this situation. The cotton fabric muffled your strained voice and soaked up salty tears that left your swollen eyes. You would also kneel beside your bed some nights whispering,"The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit."

Before you knew it, service had come to and end and everyone was filing out of the building or walking up to the priest and chatting with him. You stood behind a woman who held her daughters' hand firmly as tears streamed down her defined cheekbones. It seemed days prior her only child had been bedridden and sick with some sort of flu. There has been a lot of that going around it seemed and no one knew if it was going to become an epidemic or not. She answered with prayer every night as the doctor would leave the family household after a check-up. She had spoken of her late husband who passed away last May from a similar sickness and was worried of the angels taking her daughter, Rosalinda, from her as well. Even after it was clear such a spirit would only pull her only family out of her grasp, she still saw benevolence in them. She was either kind or stupid.

The mother thanked the Father and went on their way back home. You approached him with a sincere smile and thanked him for yet another amazing experience. He praised you, a child of God, for attending it every weekend and for allowing Him to enter your heart. Accepting the Lord into your life was the only true way to go to heaven as you had been told every time.

"They look strange. I've never seen them around here before." The gossip of older women filled with ears as soon as you walked out the doors. The source of it seemed to be a boy and a girl who were talking to an older man with nervous expressions on their faces. It didn't seem like the talk was going over too well as the man shook his head and walked past them through the church gates. Were they lost travelers? Did they need directions? It would only seem fair to hand them some assistance if there was anything you could do.

"Hello? Are you two alright?" You stared at them with a look of concern. The girl seemed relieved that someone here was willing to talk to them and quickly approached you.

"We were investigating something here in town. Both my partner and I were informed of some strange phenomenon and were hoping someone knew something about it." Her voice was gentle, but firm as she spoke. You took note of those dazzling violet eyes and sleek black hair that cascaded down in long pigtails. The clothes she wore were odd to you as not many girls around here wore such short skirts; even nurses had knee length dresses while on duty. Her apparent partner stood beside her, but did not pay attention at all to the conversation. His focus was elsewhere as if he were looking for someone among the crowd. 

"Strange phenomenon... Ah! Are you talking about the disappearance of townsfolk?" You played clueless, but knew very well where they all seemed to be disappearing too.

"Yes! Do you have any information about it?" Excitement sparked in those purple hues of hers, hoping for some sort of breakthrough. If you told the truth, what would happen to you? Sweat accumulated on the palms of her dry hands and your felt a strong source of heat filling your head like helium. The world around you seemed to be going much slower than usual and the air in your lungs had trouble puffing out. If you didn't excuse yourself quickly, you would lightly faint.

"Ahhhh... I heard from a neighbor of mine that her son had gotten a hand in the mail before he started acting strange. It was severed from its body. After that, he wasn't himself anymore. The hand apparently belonged to his niece who he took custody of after her parents died years back. That's all I know." The disappointed look on her face told her that she had heard similar stories before and they were of no help.

"Do you know where he lives? We want to ask him some question." Going to the source was probably their best bet, so you obliged.

"If you turned right and go straight down, you'll seem some small houses east of here. He works on the field, but hasn't left his home since she was discovered dead. His name should be on a mailbox. He goes by Carlos Duncan." She thanked you and hurried off with her partner into the direction you pointed towards. You didn't notice it til now, but his white hair and scar gave you a chilled feeling in the pit of your stomach...

* * *

 

"Finally home! Good! I have a meeting with a fellow business partner so could you go downstairs and clean up my work space?" Dr. Spencer entertained you with another one of his signature grins as a gloved hand was held in the direction of the stairs. The business partner he spoke of stood behind him with the same wide mouth baring teeth and top hat. His appearance unsettled you, but sometimes you were ordered to make small talk awhile Dr. Spencer finished things up in the basement. Both of you were well acquainted with one another that it bothered you for some reason.

"Yes, I'll get right on that, sir." 

And so you did. Marching down rickety steps, you pulled open a metal door and entered a long all way. At the end of it, a door was left open in the slightest where light peaked through. Dimly lit light-bulbs led you to your destination and the familiar smell of iron filled your nose. It was so strong that you could practically taste the remnants of the long deceased corpse laying on the surgical table on display for your eyes to see. His stomach was flayed open with intestines hanging out in a messy heap. It appears your employer had been looking for something specific this time as everything else and torn from its place in the body and neatly seated on a tray. His lungs were a hideous sight with dark tar that indicated him to be a smoker; a heavy one at that. The water on the concrete ground nestled itself into the fabric of your socks and you instantly wished you had kept on your brown boots.

 _Her_ hand had grasped your shoulder, startling you and causing you to whip around in a frenzy. It had to be her because no one else bothered to stick around and play torturous mind games with you like she did. Though, her presence could be found no where and reality slipped further out of your grasp. More times than not you would confide in the Doctor for advice to which he simply told you that these were hallucinations and would go away with time. Doubt was starting to cloud your mind on if she would ever leave you alone as it has been a year now and she still wouldn't relent.

"Stop. Please stop. Please go away." Your voice wavered as you pleaded with her in a whisper as to not disturb the two men upstairs. 

A cold voice softly breathed in your ear, _"Your faith in Him struggles because you can't come to terms with the fact that you're one of the horrid angels you fear."_

Yes, it all made sense. She always seemed to twist your brain into mush with truthful words. Angels only bring death and sorrow; something you and them had in common. The sensation in your back where your phantom limbs should be further proved her point. 

Wings.


End file.
